The Wolf Hunters by James Oliver Curwood

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The Complete Works of James Oliver Curwood (23 Complete Works of James Oliver Curwood Including Kazan, Country Beyond, The Alaskan, The Flaming Forest, The Wolf Hunters, The Grizzly King, & More)

The Wolf Hunters & The Grizzly King (James Oliver Curwood: American Adventure Classics Book 2)

WESTERN CLASSICS: James Oliver Curwood Edition: The Danger Trail, The Wolf Hunters, The Gold Hunters, The Flower of the North, The Hunted Woman, The Courage ... Valley of Silent Men & The Country Beyond

WESTERN CLASSICS SERIES – 9 Adventure Novels in One Volume (Illustrated): The Danger Trail, The Wolf Hunters, The Gold Hunters, The Flower of the North, ... Valley of Silent Men & The Country Beyond

The Wolf Hunters A Tale of Adventure in the Wilderness

The Collected Works of James Oliver Curwood (Illustrated Edition): The Gold Hunters, The Grizzly King, The Wolf Hunters, Kazan, Baree, The Danger Trail, ... The Hunted Woman, The Valley of Silent Men…

Produced by Suzanne Shell, Dave Macfarlane and PG DistributedProofreaders

THE WOLF HUNTERS

A Tale of Adventure in the Wilderness

BYJAMES OLIVER CURWOOD

1908

To my comrades of the great northern wilderness, those faithfulcompanions with whom I have shared the joys and hardships of the "longsilent trail," and especially to Mukoki, my red guide and belovedfriend, does the writer gratefully dedicate this volume

CONTENTS

Chapter

I The Fight in the ForestII How Wabigoon Became a White ManIII Roderick Sees the FootprintIV Roderick's First Taste of the Hunter's LifeV Shots in the WildernessVI Mukoki Disturbs the Ancient SkeletonsVII Roderick Discovers the Buckskin BagVIII How Wolf Became the Companion of MenIX Wolf Takes Vengeance Upon His PeopleX Roderick Explores the ChasmXI Roderick's DreamXII The Secret of the Skeleton's HandXIII Snowed InXIV The Rescue of WabigoonXV Roderick Holds the Woongas at BayXVI The Surprise at the Post

Illustrations:

With his rifle ready Rob approached the fissure (Frontispiece)Knife--fight--heem killed!The leader stopped in his snow-shoes

THE WOLF HUNTERS

CHAPTER I

THE FIGHT IN THE FOREST

Cold winter lay deep in the Canadian wilderness. Over it the moon wasrising, like a red pulsating ball, lighting up the vast white silence ofthe night in a shimmering glow. Not a sound broke the stillness of thedesolation. It was too late for the life of day, too early for thenocturnal roamings and voices of the creatures of the night. Like thebasin of a great amphitheater the frozen lake lay revealed in the lightof the moon and a billion stars. Beyond it rose the spruce forest, blackand forbidding. Along its nearer edges stood hushed walls of tamarack,bowed in the smothering clutch of snow and ice, shut in by impenetrablegloom.

A huge white owl flitted out of this rim of blackness, then back again,and its first quavering hoot came softly, as though the mystic hour ofsilence had not yet passed for the night-folk. The snow of the day hadceased, hardly a breath of air stirred the ice-coated twigs of thetrees. Yet it was bitter cold--so cold that a man, remaining motionless,would have frozen to death within an hour.

Suddenly there was a break in the silence, a weird, thrilling sound,like a great sigh, but not human--a sound to make one's blood run fasterand fingers twitch on rifle-stock. It came from the gloom of thetamaracks. After it there fell a deeper silence than before, and theowl, like a noiseless snowflake, drifted out over the frozen lake. Aftera few moments it came again, more faintly than before. One versed inwoodcraft would have slunk deeper into the rim of blackness, andlistened, and wondered, and watched; for in the sound he would haverecognized the wild, half-conquered note of a wounded beast's sufferingand agony.

Slowly, with all the caution born of that day's experience, a huge bullmoose walked out into the glow of the moon. His magnificent head,drooping under the weight of massive antlers, was turned inquisitivelyacross the lake to the north. His nostrils were distended, his eyesglaring, and he left behind a trail of blood. Half a mile away he caughtthe edge of the spruce forest. There something told him he would findsafety. A hunter would have known that he was wounded unto death as hedragged himself out into the foot-deep snow of the lake.

A dozen rods out from the tamaracks he stopped, head thrown high, longears pitched forward, and nostrils held half to the sky. It is in thisattitude that a moose listens when he hears a trout splashthree-quarters of a mile away. Now there was only the vast, unendingsilence, broken only by the mournful hoot of the snow owl on the otherside of the lake. Still the great beast stood immovable, a little poolof blood growing upon the snow under his forward legs. What was themystery that lurked in the blackness of yonder forest? Was it danger?The keenest of human hearing would have detected nothing. Yet to thoselong slender ears of the bull moose, slanting beyond the heavy plates ofhis horns, there came a sound. The animal lifted his head still higherto the sky, sniffed to the east, to the west, and back to the shadows ofthe tamaracks. But it was the north that held him.

From beyond that barrier of spruce there soon came a sound that manmight have heard--neither the beginning nor the end of a wail, butsomething like it. Minute by minute it came more clearly, now growing involume, now almost dying away, but every instant approaching--thedistant hunting call of the wolf-pack! What the hangman's noose is tothe murderer, what the leveled rifles are to the condemned spy, thathunt-cry of the wolves is to the wounded animal of the forests.

Instinct taught this to the old bull. His head dropped, his huge antlersleveled themselves with his shoulders, and he set off at a slow trottoward the east. He was taking chances in thus crossing the open, but tohim the spruce forest was home, and there he might find refuge. In hisbrute brain he reasoned that he could get there before the wolves brokecover. And then--

Again he stopped, so suddenly that his forward legs doubled under himand he pitched into the snow. This time, from the direction of thewolf-pack, there came the ringing report of a rifle! It might have beena mile or two miles away, but distance did not lessen the fear itbrought to the dying king of the North. That day he had heard the samesound, and it had brought mysterious and weakening pain in his vitals.With a supreme effort he brought himself to his feet, once more sniffedinto the north, the east, and the west, then turned and buried himselfin the black and frozen wilderness of tamarack.

Stillness fell again with the sound of the rifle-shot. It might havelasted five minutes or ten, when a long, solitary howl floated fromacross the lake. It ended in the sharp, quick yelp of a wolf on thetrail, and an instant later was taken up by others, until the pack wasonce more in full cry. Almost simultaneously a figure darted out uponthe ice from the edge of the forest. A dozen paces and it paused andturned back toward the black wall of spruce.

"Are you coming, Wabi?"

A voice answered from the woods. "Yes. Hurry up--run!"

Thus urged, the other turned his face once more across the lake. He wasa youth of not more than eighteen. In his right hand he carried a club.His left arm, as if badly injured, was done up in a sling improvisedfrom a lumberman's heavy scarf. His face was scratched and bleeding, andhis whole appearance showed that he was nearing complete exhaustion. Fora few moments he ran through the snow, then halted to a staggering walk.His breath came in painful gasps. The club slipped from his nervelessfingers, and conscious of the deathly weakness that was overcoming himhe did not attempt to regain it. Foot by foot he struggled on, untilsuddenly his knees gave way under him and he sank down into the snow.

From the edge of the spruce forest a young Indian now ran out upon thesurface of the lake. His breath was coming quickly, but with excitementrather than fatigue. Behind him, less than half a mile away, he couldhear the rapidly approaching cry of the hunt-pack, and for an instant hebent his lithe form close to the snow, measuring with the acuteness ofhis race the distance of the pursuers. Then he looked for his whitecompanion, and failed to see the motionless blot that marked where theother had fallen. A look of alarm shot into his eyes, and resting hisrifle between his knees he placed his hands, trumpet fashion, to hismouth and gave a signal call which, on a still night like this, carriedfor a mile.

"Wa-hoo-o-o-o-o-o! Wa-hoo-o-o-o-o-o!"

At that cry the exhausted boy in the snow staggered to his feet, andwith an answering shout which came but faintly to the ears of theIndian, resumed his flight across the lake. Two or three minutes laterWabi came up beside him.

"Can you make it, Rod?" he cried.

The other made an effort to answer, but his reply was hardly more than agasp. Before Wabi could reach out to support him he had lost his littleremaining strength and fallen for a second time into the snow.

"I'm afraid--I--can't do it--Wabi," he whispered. "I'm--bushed--"

The young Indian dropped his rifle and knelt beside the wounded boy,supporting his head against his own heaving shoulders.

"It's only a little farther, Rod," he urged. "We can make it, and taketo a tree. We ought to have taken to a tree back there, but I didn'tknow that you were so far gone; and there was a good chance to makecamp, with three cartridges left for the open lake."

"Only three!"

"That's all, but I ought to make two of them count in this light. Here,take hold of my shoulders! Quick!"

He doubled himself like a jack-knife in front of his half-prostratecompanion. From behind them there came a sudden chorus of the wolves,louder and clearer than before.

"They've hit the open and we'll have them on the lake inside of twominutes," he cried. "Give me your arms, Rod! There! Can you hold thegun?"

He straightened himself, staggering under the other's weight, and setoff on a half-trot for the distant tamaracks. Every muscle in hispowerful young body was strained to its utmost tension. Even more fullythan his helpless burden did he realize the peril at their backs.

Three minutes, four minutes more, and then--

A terrible picture burned in Wabi's brain, a picture he had carried fromboyhood of another child, torn and mangled before his very eyes by theseoutlaws of the North, and he shuddered. Unless he sped those threeremaining bullets true, unless that rim of tamaracks was reached intime, he knew what their fate would be. There flashed into his mind onelast resource. He might drop his wounded companion and find safety forhimself. But it was a thought that made Wabi smile grimly. This was notthe first time that these two had risked their lives together, and thatvery day Roderick had fought valiantly for the other, and had been theone to suffer. If they died, it would be in company. Wabi made up hismind to that and clutched the other's arms in a firmer grip. He waspretty certain that death faced them both. They might escape the wolves,but the refuge of a tree, with the voracious pack on guard below, meantonly a more painless end by cold. Still, while there was life there washope, and he hurried on through the snow, listening for the wolvesbehind him and with each moment feeling more keenly that his own powersof endurance were rapidly reaching an end.

For some reason that Wabi could not explain the hunt-pack had ceased togive tongue. Not only the allotted two minutes, but five of them, passedwithout the appearance of the animals on the lake. Was it possible thatthey! had lost the trail? Then it occurred to the Indian that perhaps hehad wounded one of the pursuers, and that the others, discovering hisinjury, had set upon him and were now participating in one of thecannibalistic feasts that had saved them thus far. Hardly had he thoughtof this possibility when he was thrilled by a series of long howls, andlooking back he discerned a dozen or more dark objects moving swiftlyover their trail.

Not an eighth of a mile ahead was the tamarack forest. Surely Rod couldtravel that distance!

He loosened the other's arms, and as he did so his rifle fell from thewhite boy's nerveless grip and buried itself in the snow. As he relievedhimself of his burden he saw for the first time the deathly pallor andpartly closed eyes of his companion. With a new terror filling his ownfaithful heart he knelt beside the form which lay so limp and lifeless,his blazing eyes traveling from the ghastly face to the oncoming wolves,his rifle ready in his hands. He could now discern the wolves trailingout from the spruce forest like ants. A dozen of them were almost withinrifle-shot. Wabi knew that it was with this vanguard of the pack that hemust deal if he succeeded in stopping the scores behind. Nearer andnearer he allowed them to come, until the first were scarce two hundredfeet away. Then, with a sudden shout, the Indian leaped to his feet anddashed fearlessly toward them. This unexpected move, as he had intended,stopped the foremost wolves in a huddled group for an instant, and inthis opportune moment Wabi leveled his gun and fired. A long howl ofpain testified to the effect of the shot. Hardly had it begun when Wabifired again, this time with such deadly precision that one of thewolves, springing high into the air, tumbled back lifeless among thepack without so much as making a sound.

Running to the prostrate Roderick, Wabi drew him quickly upon his back,clutched his rifle in the grip of his arm, and started again for thetamaracks. Only once did he look back, and then he saw the wolvesgathering in a snarling, fighting crowd about their slaughteredcomrades. Not until he had reached the shelter of the tamaracks did theIndian youth lay down his burden, and then in his own exhaustion he fellprone upon the snow, his black eyes fixed cautiously upon the feastingpack. A few minutes later he discerned dark spots appearing here andthere upon the whiteness of the snow, and at these signs of thetermination of the feast he climbed up into the low branches of a spruceand drew Roderick after him. Not until then did the wounded boy showvisible signs of life. Slowly he recovered from the faintness which hadoverpowered him, and after a little, with some assistance from Wabi, wasable to place himself safely on a higher limb.

"That's the second time, Wabi," he said, reaching a hand downaffectionately to the other's shoulder. "Once from drowning, once fromthe wolves. I've got a lot to even up with you!"

"Not after what happened to-day!"

The Indian's dusky face was raised until the two were looking into eachother's eyes, with a gaze of love, and trust. Only a moment thus, andinstinctively their glance turned toward the lake. The wolf-pack was inplain view. It was the biggest pack that Wabi, in all his life in thewilderness, had ever seen, and he mentally figured that there were atleast half a hundred animals in it. Like ravenous dogs after having afew scraps of meat flung among them, the wolves were running about,nosing here and there, as if hoping to find a morsel that might haveescaped discovery. Then one of them stopped on the trail and, throwinghimself half on his haunches, with his head turned to the sky like abaying hound, started the hunt-cry.

"There's two packs. I thought it was too big for one," exclaimed theIndian. "See! Part of them are taking up the trail and the others arelagging behind gnawing the bones of the dead wolf. Now if we only hadour ammunition and the other gun those murderers got away from us, we'dmake a fortune. What--"

Wabi stopped with a suddenness that spoke volumes, and the supportingarm that he had thrown around Rod's waist tightened until it caused thewounded youth to flinch. Both boys stared in rigid silence. The wolveswere crowding around a spot in the snow half-way between the tamarackrefuge and the scene of the recent feast. The starved animals betrayedunusual excitement. They had struck the pool of blood and red trail madeby the dying moose!

"What is it, Wabi?" whispered Rod.

The Indian did not answer. His black eyes gleamed with a new fire, hislips were parted in anxious anticipation, and he seemed hardly tobreathe in his tense interest. The wounded boy repeated his question,and as if in reply the pack swerved to the west and in a black silentmass swept in a direction that would bring them into the tamaracks ahundred yards from the young hunters.

"A new trail!" breathed Wabi. "A new trail, and a hot one! Listen! Theymake no sound. It is always that way when they are close to a kill!"

As they looked the last of the wolves disappeared in the forest. For afew moments there was silence, then a chorus of howls came from deep inthe woods behind them.

He had partly slipped from his limb, withdrawing his supporting arm fromRod's waist, and was about to descend to the ground when the pack againturned in their direction. A heavy crashing in the underbrush not adozen rods away sent Wabi in a hurried scramble for his perch.

"Quick--higher up!" he warned excitedly. "They're coming out here--rightunder us! If we can get up so that they can't see us, or smell us--"

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a huge shadowy bulk rushedpast them not more than fifty feet from the spruce in which they hadsought refuge. Both of the boys recognized it as a bull moose, though itdid not occur to either of them that it was the same animal at whichWabi had taken a long shot that same day a couple of miles back. Inclose pursuit came the ravenous pack. Their heads hung close to thebloody trail, hungry, snarling cries coming from between their gapingjaws, they swept across the little opening almost at the young hunters'feet. It was a sight which Rod had never expected to see, and one whichheld even the more experienced Wabi fascinated. Not a sound fell fromeither of the youths' lips as they stared down upon the fierce, hungryoutlaws of the wilderness. To Wabi this near view of the pack told afateful story; to Rod it meant nothing more than the tragedy about to beenacted before his eyes. The Indian's keen vision saw in the whitemoonlight long, thin bodies, starved almost to skin and bone; to hiscompanion the onrushing pack seemed filled only with agile, powerfulbeasts, maddened to almost fiendish exertions by the nearness of theirprey.

In a flash they were gone, but in that moment of their passing there waspainted a picture to endure a lifetime in the memory of Roderick Drew.And it was to be followed by one even more tragic, even more thrilling.To the dazed, half-fainting young hunter it seemed but another instantbefore the pack overhauled the old bull. He saw the doomed monster turn,in the stillness heard the snapping of jaws, the snarling ofhunger-crazed animals, and a sound that might have been a great, heavingmoan or a dying bellow. In Wabi's veins the blood danced with theexcitement that stirred his forefathers to battle. Not a line of thetragedy that was being enacted before his eyes escaped this native sonof the wilderness. It was a magnificent fight! He knew that the old bullwould die by inches in the one-sided duel, and that when it was overthere would be more than one carcass for the survivors to gorgethemselves upon. Quietly he reached up and touched his companion.

"Now is our time," he said. "Come on--still--and on this side of thetree!"

He slipped down, foot by foot, assisting Rod as he did so, and when bothhad reached the ground he bent over as before, that the other might getupon his back.

"I can make it alone, Wabi," whispered the wounded boy. "Give me a lifton the arm, will you?"

With the Indian's arm about his waist, the two set off into thetamaracks. Fifteen minutes later they came to the bank of a small frozenriver. On the opposite side of this, a hundred yards down, was a sightwhich both, as if by a common impulse, welcomed with a glad cry. Closeto the shore, sheltered by a dense growth of spruce, was a brightcamp-fire. In response to Wabi's far-reaching whoop a shadowy figureappeared in the glow and returned the shout.

"Mukoki!" cried the Indian.

"Mukoki!" laughed Rod, happy that the end was near.

Even as he spoke he swayed dizzily, and Wabi dropped his gun that hemight keep his companion from falling into the snow.

CHAPTER II

HOW WABIGOON BECAME A WHITE MAN

Had the young hunters the power of looking into the future, theircamp-fire that night on the frozen Ombabika might have been one of theirlast, and a few days later would have seen them back on the edges ofcivilization. Possibly, could they have foreseen the happy culminationof the adventures that lay before them, they would still have gone on,for the love of excitement is strong in the heart of robust youth. Butthis power of discernment was denied them, and only in after years, withthe loved ones of their own firesides close about them, was the wholepicture revealed. And in those days, when they would gather with theirfamilies about the roaring logs of winter and live over again theirearly youth, they knew that all the gold in the world would not inducethem to part with their memories of the life that had gone before.

A little less than thirty years previous to the time of which we write,a young man named John Newsome left the great city of London for the NewWorld. Fate had played a hard game with young Newsome--had first robbedhim of both parents, and then in a single fitful turn of her wheeldeprived him of what little property he had inherited. A little later hecame to Montreal, and being a youth of good education and considerableambition, he easily secured a position and worked himself into theconfidence of his employers, obtaining an appointment as factor atWabinosh House, a Post deep in the wilderness of Lake Nipigon.

In the second year of his reign at Wabinosh--a factor is virtually kingin his domain--there came to the Post an Indian chief named Wabigoon,and with him his daughter, Minnetaki, in honor of whose beauty andvirtue a town was named in after years. Minnetaki was just budding intothe early womanhood of her race, and possessed a beauty seldom seenamong Indian maidens. If there is such a thing as love at first sight,it sprang into existence the moment John Newsome's eyes fell upon thislovely princess. Thereafter his visits to Wabigoon's village, thirtymiles deeper in the wilderness, were of frequent occurrence. From thebeginning Minnetaki returned the young factor's affections, but a mostpotent reason prevented their marriage. For a long time Minnetaki hadbeen ardently wooed by a powerful young chief named Woonga, whom shecordially detested, but upon whose favor and friendship depended theexistence of her father's sway over his hunting-grounds.

With the advent of the young factor the bitterest rivalry sprang upbetween the two suitors, which resulted in two attempts upon Newsome'slife, and an ultimatum sent by Woonga to Minnetaki's father. Minnetakiherself replied to this ultimatum. It was a reply that stirred the firesof hatred and revenge to fever heat in Woonga's breast. One dark night,at the head of a score of his tribe, he fell upon Wabigoon's camp, hisobject being the abduction of the princess. While the attack wassuccessful in a way, its main purpose failed. Wabigoon and a dozen ofhis tribesmen were slain, but in the end Woonga was driven off.

A swift messenger brought news of the attack and of the old chief'sdeath to Wabinosh House, and with a dozen men Newsome hastened to theassistance of his betrothed and her people. A counter attack was madeupon Woonga and he was driven deep into the wilderness with great loss.Three days later Minnetaki became Newsome's wife at the Hudson Bay Post.

From that hour dated one of the most sanguinary feuds in the history ofthe great trading company; a feud which, as we shall see, was destinedto live even unto the second generation.

Woonga and his tribe now became no better than outlaws, and preyed soeffectively upon the remnants of the dead Wabigoon's people that thelatter were almost exterminated. Those who were left moved to thevicinity of the Post. Hunters from Wabinosh House were ambushed andslain. Indians who came to the Post to trade were regarded as enemies,and the passing of years seemed to make but little difference. The feudstill existed. The outlaws came to be spoken of as "Woongas," and aWoonga was regarded as a fair target for any man's rifle.

Meanwhile two children came to bless the happy union of Newsome and hislovely Indian wife. One of these, the eldest, was a boy, and in honor ofthe old chief he was named Wabigoon, and called Wabi for short. Theother was a girl, three years younger, and Newsome insisted that she becalled Minnetaki. Curiously enough, the blood of Wabi ran almost pure tohis Indian forefathers, while Minnetaki, as she became older, developedless of the wild beauty of her mother and more of the softer lovelinessof the white race, her wealth of soft, jet black hair and her great darkeyes contrasting with the lighter skin of her father's blood. Wabi, onthe other hand, was an Indian in appearance from his moccasins to thecrown of his head, swarthy, sinewy, as agile as a lynx, and with everyinstinct in him crying for the life of the wild. Yet born in him was aCaucasian shrewdness and intelligence that reached beyond the factorhimself.

One of Newsome's chief pleasures in life had been the educating of hiswoodland bride, and it was the ambition of both that the littleMinnetaki and her brother be reared in the ways of white children.Consequently both mother and father began their education at the Post;they were sent to the factor's school and two winters were passed inPort Arthur that they might have the advantage of thoroughly equippedschools. The children proved themselves unusually bright pupils, and bythe time Wabi was sixteen and Minnetaki twelve one would not have knownfrom their manner of speech that Indian blood ran in their veins. Yetboth, by the common desire of their parents, were familiar with the lifeof the Indian and could talk fluently the tongue of their mother'speople.

It was at about this time in their lives that the Woongas becameespecially daring in their depredations. These outlaws no longerpretended to earn their livelihood by honest means, but preyed upontrappers and other Indians without discrimination, robbing and killingwhenever safe opportunities offered themselves. The hatred for thepeople of Wabinosh House became hereditary, and the Woonga children grewup with it in their hearts. The real cause of the feud had beenforgotten by many, though not by Woonga himself. At last so daring didhe become that the provincial government placed a price upon his headand upon those of a number of his most notorious followers. For a timethe outlaws were driven from the country, but the bloodthirsty chiefhimself could not be captured.

When Wabi was seventeen years of age it was decided that he should besent to some big school in the States for a year. Against this plan theyoung Indian--nearly all people regarded him as an Indian, and Wabi wasproud of the fact--fought with all of the arguments at his command. Heloved the wilds with the passion of his mother's race. His naturerevolted at the thoughts of a great city with its crowded streets, itsnoise, and bustle, and dirt. It was then that Minnetaki pleaded withhim, begged him to go for just one year, and to come back and tell herof all he had seen and teach her what he had learned. Wabi loved hisbeautiful little sister beyond anything else on earth, and it was shemore than his parents who finally induced him to go.

For three months Wabi devoted himself faithfully to his studies inDetroit. But each week added to his loneliness and his longings forMinnetaki and his forests. The passing of each day became a painful taskto him. To Minnetaki he wrote three times each week, and three timeseach week the little maiden at Wabinosh House wrote long, cheeringletters to her brother--though they came to Wabi only about twice amonth, because only so often did the mail-carrier go out from the Post.

It was at this time in his lonely school life that Wabigoon becameacquainted with Roderick Drew. Roderick, even as Wabi fancied himself tobe just at this time, was a child of misfortune. His father had diedbefore he could remember, and the property he had left had dwindledslowly away during the passing of years. Rod was spending his last weekin school when he met Wabigoon. Necessity had become his grim master,and the following week he was going to work. As the boy described thesituation to his Indian friend, his mother "had fought to the last ditchto keep him in school, but now his time was up." Wabi seized upon thewhite youth as an oasis in a vast desert. After a little the two becamealmost inseparable, and their friendship culminated in Wabi's going tolive in the Drew home. Mrs. Drew was a woman of education andrefinement, and her interest in Wabigoon was almost that of a mother. Inthis environment the ragged edges were smoothed away from the Indianboy's deportment, and his letters to Minnetaki were more and more filledwith enthusiastic descriptions of his new friends. After a little Mrs.Drew received a grateful letter of thanks from the princess mother atWabinosh House, and thus a pleasant correspondence sprang up between thetwo.

There were now few lonely hours for the two boys. During the long winterevenings, when Roderick was through with his day's work and Wabi hadcompleted his studies, they would sit before the fire and the Indianyouth would describe the glorious life of the vast northern wilderness;and day by day, and week by week, there steadily developed within Rod'sbreast a desire to see and live that life. A thousand plans were made, athousand adventures pictured, and the mother would smile and laugh andplan with them.

But in time the end of it all came, and Wabi went back to the princessmother, to Minnetaki, and to his forests. There were tears in the boys'eyes when they parted, and the mother cried for the Indian boy who wasreturning to his people. Many of the days that followed were painful toRoderick Drew. Eight months had bred a new nature in him, and when Wabileft it was as if a part of his own life had gone with him. Spring cameand passed, and then summer. Every mail from Wabinosh House broughtletters for the Drews, and never did an Indian courier drop a pack atthe Post that did not carry a bundle of letters for Wabigoon.

Then in the early autumn, when September frosts were turning the leavesof the North to red and gold, there came the long letter from Wabi whichbrought joy, excitement and misgiving into the little home of the motherand her son. It was accompanied by one from the factor himself, anotherfrom the princess mother, and by a tiny note from Minnetaki, who pleadedwith the others that Roderick and Mrs. Drew might spend the winter withthem at Wabinosh House.

"You need not fear about losing your position." wrote Wabigoon. "Weshall make more money up here this winter than you could earn in Detroitin three years. We will hunt wolves. The country is alive with them, andthe government gives a bounty of fifteen dollars for every scalp taken.Two winters ago I killed forty and I did not make a business of it atthat. I have a tame wolf which we use as a decoy. Don't bother about agun or anything like that. We have everything here."

For several days Mrs. Drew and her son deliberated upon the situationbefore a reply was sent to the Newsomes. Roderick pleaded, pictured theglorious times they would have, the health that it would give them, andmarshaled in a dozen different ways his arguments in favor of acceptingthe invitation. On the other hand, his mother was filled with doubt.Their finances were alarmingly low, and Rod would be giving up a surethough small income, which was now supporting them comfortably. Hisfuture was bright, and that winter would see him promoted to ten dollarsa week in the mercantile house where he was employed. In the end theycame to an understanding. Mrs. Drew would not go to Wabinosh House, butshe would allow Roderick to spend the winter there--and word to thiseffect was sent off into the wilderness.

Three weeks later came Wabigoon's reply. On the tenth of October hewould meet Rod at Sprucewood, on the Black Sturgeon River. Thence theywould travel by canoe up the Sturgeon River to Sturgeon Lake, takeportage to Lake Nipigon, and arrive at Wabinosh House before the ice ofearly winter shut them in. There was little time to lose in makingpreparations, and the fourth day following the receipt of Wabi's letterfound Rod and his mother waiting for the train which was to whirl theboy into his new life. Not until the eleventh did he arrive atSprucewood. Wabi was there to meet him, accompanied by an Indian fromthe Post; and that same afternoon the journey up Black Sturgeon Riverwas begun.

CHAPTER III

RODERICK SEES THE FOOTPRINT

Rod was now plunged for the first time in his life into the heart of theWilderness. Seated in the bow of the birch-bark canoe which was carryingthem up the Sturgeon, with Wabi close behind him, he drank in the wildbeauties of the forests and swamps through which they slipped almost asnoiselessly as shadows, his heart thumping in joyous excitement, hiseyes constantly on the alert for signs of the big game which Wabi toldhim was on all sides of them. Across his knees, ready for instant use,was Wabi's repeating rifle. The air was keen with the freshness left bynight frosts. At times deep masses of gold and crimson forests shut themin, at others, black forests of spruce came down to the river's edge;again they would pass silently through great swamps of tamaracks. Inthis vast desolation there was a mysterious quiet, except for theoccasional sounds of wild life. Partridges drummed back in the woods,flocks of ducks got up with a great rush of wings at almost every turn,and once, late in the morning of the first day out, Rod was thrilled bya crashing in the undergrowth scarcely a stone's throw from the canoe.He could see saplings twisting and bending, and heard Wabi whisperbehind him:

"A moose!"

They were words to set his hands trembling and his whole body quiveringwith anticipation. There was in him now none of the old hunter'scoolness, none of the almost stoical indifference with which the men ofthe big North hear these sounds of the wild things about them. Rod hadyet to see his first big game.

That moment came in the afternoon. The canoe had skimmed lightly arounda bend in the river. Beyond this bend a mass of dead driftwood hadwedged against the shore, and this driftwood, as the late sun sankbehind the forests, was bathed in a warm yellow glow. And basking inthis glow, as he loves to do at the approach of winter nights, was ananimal, the sight of which drew a sharp, excited cry from between Rod'slips. In an instant he had recognized it as a bear. The animal was takencompletely by surprise and was less than half a dozen rods away. Quickas a flash, and hardly realizing what he was doing, the boy drew hisrifle to his shoulder, took quick aim and fired. The bear was alreadyclambering up the driftwood, but stopped suddenly at the report, slippedas if about to fall back--then continued his retreat.

"You hit 'im!" shouted Wabi. "Quick-try 'im again!"

Rod's second shot seemed to have no effect In his excitement he jumpedto his feet, forgetting that he was in a frail canoe, and took a lastshot at the big black beast that was just about to disappear over theedge of the driftwood. Both Wabi and his Indian companion flungthemselves on the shore side of their birch and dug their paddles deepinto the water, but their efforts were unavailing to save their recklesscomrade. Unbalanced by the concussion of his gun, Rod plunged backwardinto the river, but before he had time to sink, Wabi reached over andgrabbed him by the arm.

"Don't make a move--and hang on to the gun!" he warned. "If we try toget you in here we'll all go over!" He made a sign to the Indian, whoswung the canoe slowly inshore. Then he grinned down into Rod'sdripping, unhappy face.

"By George, that last shot was a dandy for a tenderfoot! You got yourbear!"

Despite his uncomfortable position, Rod gave a whoop of joy, and nosooner did his feet touch solid bottom than he loosened himself fromWabi's grip and plunged toward the driftwood. On its very top he foundthe bear, as dead as a bullet through its side and another through itshead could make it. Standing there beside his first big game, drippingand shivering, he looked down upon the two who were pulling their canoeashore and gave, a series of triumphant whoops that could have beenheard half a mile away.

"It's camp and a fire for you," laughed Wabi, hurrying up to him. "Thisis better luck than I thought you'd have, Rod. We'll have a gloriousfeast to-night, and a fire of this driftwood that will show you whatmakes life worth the living up here in the North. Ho, Muky," he calledto the old Indian, "cut this fellow up, will you? I'll make camp."

"Can we keep the skin?" asked Rod. "It's my first, you know, and--"

"Of course we can. Give us a hand with the fire, Rod; it will keep youfrom catching cold."

In the excitement of making their first camp, Rod almost forgot that hewas soaked to the skin, and that night was falling about them. The firststep was the building of a fire, and soon a great, crackling, almostsmokeless blaze was throwing its light and heat for thirty feet around.Wabi now brought blankets from the canoe, stripped off a part of his ownclothes, made Rod undress, and soon had that youth swathed in dry togs,while his wet ones were hung close up to the fire. For the first timeRod saw the making of a wilderness shelter. Whistling cheerily, Wabi gotan ax from the canoe, went into the edge of the cedars and cut armfulafter armful of saplings and boughs. Tying his blankets about himself,Rod helped to carry these, a laughable and grotesque figure as hestumbled about clumsily in his efforts. Within half an hour the cedarshelter was taking form. Two crotched saplings were driven into theground eight feet apart, and from one to the other, resting in thecrotches, was placed another sapling, which formed the ridge-pole; andfrom this pole there ran slantwise to the earth half a dozen others,making a framework upon which the cedar boughs were piled. By the timethe old Indian had finished his bear the home was completed, and withits beds of sweet-smelling boughs, the great camp-fire in front and thedense wilderness about them growing black with the approach of night,Rod thought that nothing in picture-book or story could quite equal thereality of that moment. And when, a few moments later, great bear-steakswere broiling over a mass of coals, and the odor of coffee mingled withthat of meal-cakes sizzling on a heated stone, he knew that his dearestdreams had come true.

That night in the glow of the camp-fire Rod listened to the thrillingstories of Wabi and the old Indian, and lay awake until nearly dawn,listening to the occasional howl of a wolf, mysterious splashings in theriver and the shrill notes of the night birds. There were variedexperiences in the following three days: one frosty morning before theothers were awake he stole out from the camp with Wabi's rifle and shottwice at a red deer--which he missed both times; there was an excitingbut fruitless race with a swimming caribou in Sturgeon Lake, at whichWabi himself took three long-range shots without effect.

It was on a glorious autumn afternoon that Wabi's keen eyes firstdescried the log buildings of the Post snuggled in the edge of theseemingly unending forest. As they approached he joyfully pointed outthe different buildings to Rod--the Company store, the little cluster ofemployees' homes and the factor's house, where Rod was to meet hiswelcome. At least Roderick himself had thought it would be there. But asthey came nearer a single canoe shot out suddenly from the shore and theyoung hunters could see a white handkerchief waving them greeting. Wabireplied with a whoop of pleasure and fired his gun into the air.

"It's Minnetaki!" he cried. "She said she would watch for us and comeout to meet us!"

Minnetaki! A little nervous thrill shot through Rod. Wabi had describedher to him a thousand times in those winter evenings at home; with abrother's love and pride he had always brought her into their talks andplans, and somehow, little by little, Rod had grown to like her verymuch without ever having seen her.

The two canoes swiftly approached each other, and in a few minutes morewere alongside. With a glad laughing cry Minnetaki leaned over andkissed her brother, while at the same time her dark eyes shot a curiousglance at the youth of whom she had read and heard so much.

At this time Minnetaki was fifteen. Like her mother's race she wasslender, of almost woman's height, and unconsciously as graceful as afawn in her movements. A slightly waving wealth of raven hair framedwhat Rod thought to be one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen, andentwined in the heavy silken braid that fell over her shoulder were anumber of red autumn leaves. As she straightened herself in her canoeshe looked at Rod and smiled, and he in making a polite effort to lifthis cap in civilized style, lost that article of apparel in a suddengust of wind. In an instant there was a general laugh of merriment inwhich even the old Indian joined. The little incident did more towardmaking comradeship than anything else that might have happened, andlaughing again into Rod's face Minnetaki urged her canoe toward thefloating cap.

"You shouldn't wear such things until it gets cold," she said, afterretrieving the cap and handing it to him. "Wabi does--but I don't!"

"Then I won't," replied Rod gallantly, and at Wabi's burst of laughterboth blushed.

That first night at the Post Rod found that Wabi had already made allplans for the winter's hunting, and the white youth's complete equipmentwas awaiting him in the room assigned to him in the factor's house--adeadly looking five-shot Remington, similar to Wabi's, a long-barreled,heavy-caliber revolver, snow-shoes, and a dozen other articles necessaryto one about to set out upon a long expedition in the wilderness. Wabihad also mapped out their hunting-grounds. Wolves in the immediateneighborhood of the Post, where they were being constantly sought by theIndians and the factor's men, had become exceedingly cautious and werenot numerous, but in the almost untraveled wilderness a hundred miles tothe north and east they were literally overrunning the country, killingmoose, caribou and deer in great numbers.

In this region Wabi planned to make their winter quarters. And no timewas to be lost in taking up the trail, for the log house in which theywould pass the bitterly cold months should be built before the heavysnows set in. It was therefore decided that the young hunters shouldstart within a week, accompanied by Mukoki, the old Indian, a cousin ofthe slain Wabigoon, whom Wabi had given the nickname of Muky and who hadbeen a faithful comrade to him from his earliest childhood.

Rod made the most of the six days which were allotted to him at thePost, and while Wabi helped to handle the affairs of the Company's storeduring a short absence of his father at Port Arthur, the lovely littleMinnetaki gave our hero his first lessons in woodcraft. In canoe, withthe rifle, and in reading the signs of forest life Wabi's sisterawakened constantly increasing admiration in Rod. To see her bendingover some freshly made trail, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparklingwith excitement, her rich hair filled with the warmth of the sun, was apicture to arouse enthusiasm even in the heart of a youngster ofeighteen, and a hundred times the boy mentally vowed that "she was abrick" from the tips of her pretty moccasined feet to the top of herprettier head. Half a dozen times at least he voiced this sentiment toWabi, and Wabi agreed with great enthusiasm. In fact, by the time theweek was almost gone Minnetaki and Rod had become great chums, and itwas not without some feeling of regret that the young wolf huntergreeted the dawn of the day that was to see them begin their journeydeeper into the wilds.

Minnetaki was one of the earliest risers at the Post. Rod was seldombehind her. But on this particular morning he was late and heard thegirl whistling outside half an hour before he was dressed--for Minnetakicould whistle in a manner that often filled him with envy. By the timehe came down she had disappeared in the edge of the forest, and Wabi,who was also ahead of him, was busy with Mukoki tying up their equipmentin packs. It was a glorious morning, clear and frosty, and Rod noticedthat a thin shell of ice had formed on the lake during the night. Onceor twice Wabi turned toward the forest and gave his signal whoop, butreceived no reply.

"I don't see why Minnetaki doesn't come back," he remarked carelessly,as he fastened a shoulder-strap about a bundle. "Breakfast will be readyin a jiffy. Hunt her up, will you, Rod?"

Nothing loath, Rod started out on a brisk run along the path which heknew to be a favorite with Minnetaki and shortly it brought him down toa pebbly stretch of the beach where she frequently left her canoe. Thatshe had been here a few minutes before he could tell by the fact thatthe ice about the birch-bark was broken, as though the girl had testedits thickness by shoving the light craft out into it for a few feet. Herfootsteps led plainly up the shelving shore and into the forest.

"O Minnetaki--Minnetaki!"

Rod called loudly and listened. There was no response. As if impelled bysome presentiment which he himself could not explain, the boy hurrieddeeper into the forest along the narrow path which Minnetaki must havetaken. Five minutes--ten minutes--and he called again. Still there wasno answer. Possibly the girl had not gone so far, or she might have leftthe path for the thick woods. A little farther on there was a soft spotin the path where a great tree-trunk had rotted half a century before,leaving a rich black soil. Clearly traced in this were the imprints ofMinnetaki's moccasins. For a full minute Rod stopped and listened,making not a sound. Why he maintained silence he could not haveexplained. But he knew that he was half a mile from the Post, and thatWabi's sister should not be here at breakfast time. In this minute'squiet he unconsciously studied the tracks in the ground. How small thepretty Indian maiden's feet were! And he noticed, too, that hermoccasins, unlike most moccasins, had a slight heel.

But in a moment more his inspection was cut short. Was that a cry heheard far ahead? His heart seemed to stop beating, his bloodthrilled--and in another instant he was running down the path like adeer. Twenty rods beyond this point the path entered an opening in theforest made by a great fire, and half-way across this opening the youthsaw a sight which chilled him to the marrow. There was Minnetaki, herlong hair tumbling loosely down her back, a cloth tied around herhead--and on either side an Indian dragging her swiftly toward theopposite forest!

For as long as he might have drawn three breaths Rod stood transfixedwith horror. Then his senses returned to him, and every muscle in hisbody seemed to bound with action. For days he had been practising withhis revolver and it was now in the holster at his side. Should he useit? Or might he hit Minnetaki? At his feet he saw a club and snatchingthis up he sped across the opening, the soft earth holding the sound ofhis steps. When he was a dozen feet behind the Indians Minnetakistumbled in a sudden effort to free herself, and as one of her captorshalf turned to drag her to her feet he saw the enraged youth, clubuplifted, bearing down upon them like a demon. A terrific yell from Rod,a warning cry from the Indian, and the fray began. With crushing force,the boy's club fell upon the shoulder of the second Indian, and beforehe could recover from the delivery of this blow the youth was caught ina choking, deadly grip by the other from behind.

Freed by the sudden attack, Minnetaki tore away the cloth that bound hereyes and mouth. As quick as a flash she took in the situation. At herfeet the wounded Indian was half rising, and upon the ground near him,struggling in close embrace, were Rod and the other. She saw theIndian's fatal grip upon her preserver's throat, the whitening face andwide-open eyes, and with a great, sobbing cry she caught up the fallenclub and brought it down with all her strength upon the redskin's head.Twice, three times the club rose and fell, and the grip on Rod's throatrelaxed. A fourth time it rose, but this time was caught from behind,and a huge hand clutched the brave girl's throat so that the cry on herlips died in a gasp. But the relief gave Rod his opportunity. With atremendous effort he reached his pistol holster, drew out the gun, andpressed it close up against his assailant's body. There was a muffledreport and with a shriek of agony the Indian pitched backward. Hearingthe shot and seeing the effect upon his comrade, the second Indianreleased his hold on Minnetaki and ran for the forest. Rod, seeingMinnetaki fall in a sobbing, frightened heap, forgot all else but to runto her, smooth back her hair and comfort her with all of the assurancesat his boyish command.

It was here that Wabi and the old Indian guide found them five minuteslater. Hearing Rod's first piercing yell of attack, they had raced intothe forest, afterward guided by the two or three shrill screams whichMinnetaki had unconsciously emitted during the struggle. Close behindthem, smelling trouble, followed two of the Post employees.

The attempted abduction of Wabi's sister, Rod's heroic rescue and thedeath of one of the captors, who was recognized as one of Woonga's men,caused a seven-day sensation at the Post.

There was now no thought of leaving on the part of the young wolfhunters. It was evident that Woonga was again in the neighborhood, andWabi and Rod, together with a score of Indians and hunters, spent daysin scouring the forests and swamps. But the Woongas disappeared assuddenly as they came. Not until Wabi had secured a promise fromMinnetaki that she would no longer go into the forests unaccompanied didthe Indian youth again allow himself to take up their interrupted plans.

Minnetaki had been within easy calling distance of help when theWoongas, without warning, sprang upon her, smothered her attempted criesand dragged her away, compelling her to walk alone over the soft earthwhere Rod had seen her footsteps, so that any person who followed mightsuppose she was alone and safe. This fact stirred the dozen whitefamilies at the Post into aggressive action, and four of the mostskillful Indian track-hunters in the service were detailed to devotethemselves exclusively to hunting down the outlaws, their operations notto include a territory extending more than twenty miles from WabinoshHouse in any direction. With these precautions it was believed that noharm could come to Minnetaki or other young girls of the Post.

It was, therefore, on a Monday, the fourth day of November, that Rod,Wabi and Mukoki turned their faces at last to the adventures thatawaited them in the great North.

CHAPTER IV

RODERICK'S FIRST TASTE OF THE HUNTER'S LIFE

By this time it was bitter cold. The lakes and rivers were frozen deepand a light snow covered the ground. Already two weeks behind theirplans, the young wolf hunters and the old Indian made forced marchesaround the northern extremity of Lake Nipigon and on the sixth day foundthemselves on the Ombabika River, where they were compelled to stop onaccount of a dense snow-storm. A temporary camp was made, and it waswhile constructing this camp that Mukoki discovered signs of wolves. Itwas therefore decided to remain for a day or two and investigate thehunting-grounds. On the morning of the second day Wabi shot at andwounded the old bull moose which met such a tragic end a few hourslater, and that same morning the two boys made a long tour to the northin the hope of finding that they were in a good game country, whichwould mean also that there were plenty of wolves.

This left Mukoki alone in camp. Thus far, in their desire to cover asmuch ground as possible before the heavy snows came, Wabi and hiscompanions had not stopped to hunt for game and for six days their onlymeat had been bacon and jerked venison. Mukoki, whose prodigiousappetite was second only to the shrewdness with which he stalked game tosatisfy it, determined to add to their larder if possible during theothers' absence, and with this object in view he left camp late in theafternoon to be gone, as he anticipated, not longer than an hour or so.

With him he carried two powerful wolf-traps slung over his shoulders.Stealing cautiously along the edge of the river, his eyes and ears alertfor game, Mukoki suddenly came upon the frozen and half-eaten carcass ofa red deer. It was evident that the animal had been killed by wolveseither the day or night before, and from the tracks in the snow theIndian concluded that not more than four wolves had participated in theslaughter and feast. That these wolves would return to continue theirbanquet, probably that night, Mukoki's many experiences as a wolf hunterassured him; and he paused long enough to set his traps, afterwardcovering them over with three or four inches of snow.

Continuing his hunt, the old Indian soon struck the fresh spoor of adeer. Believing that the animal would not travel for any great distancein the deep snow, he swiftly took up the trail. Half a mile farther onhe stopped abruptly with a grunt of unbounded surprise. Another hunterhad taken up the trail!

With increased caution Mukoki now advanced. Two hundred feet more and asecond pair of moccasined feet joined in the pursuit, and a little laterstill a third!

Led on by curiosity more than by the hope of securing a partnershipshare in the quarry, the Indian slipped silently and swiftly through theforest. As he emerged from a dense growth of spruce through which thetracks led him Mukoki was treated to another surprise by almoststumbling over the carcass of the deer he had been following. A briefexamination satisfied him that the doe had been shot at least two hoursbefore. The three hunters had cut out her heart, liver and tongue andhad also taken the hind quarters, leaving the remainder of the carcassand the skin! Why had they neglected this most valuable part of theirspoils? With a new gleam of interest in his eyes Mukoki carefullyscrutinized the moccasin trails. He soon discovered that the Indiansahead of him were in great haste, and that after cutting the choicestmeat from the doe they had started off to make up for lost time byrunning!

With another grunt of astonishment the old Indian returned to thecarcass, quickly stripped off the skin, wrapped in it the fore quartersand ribs of the doe, and thus loaded, took up the home trail. It wasdark when he reached camp. Wabi and Rod had not yet returned. Building ahuge fire and hanging the ribs of the doe on a spit before it, heanxiously awaited their appearance.

Half an hour later he heard the shout which brought him quickly to whereWabi was holding the partly unconscious form of Rod in his arms.

It took but a few moments to carry the injured youth to camp, and notuntil Rod was resting upon a pile of blankets in their shack, with thewarmth of the fire reviving him, did Wabi vouchsafe an explanation tothe old Indian.

"Shot?" asked the old hunter, paying no attention to the question. Hedropped upon his knees beside Rod, his long brown fingers reaching outanxiously. "Shot?"

"No--hit with a club. We met three Indian hunters who were in camp andwho invited us to eat with them. While we were eating they jumped uponour backs. Rod got that--and lost his rifle!"

Mukoki quickly stripped the wounded boy of his garments, baring his leftarm and side. The arm was swollen and almost black and there was a greatbruise on Rod's body a little above the waist. Mukoki was a surgeon bynecessity, a physician such as one finds only in the vast unblazedwildernesses, where Nature is the teacher. Crudely he made hisexamination, pinching and twisting the flesh and bones until Rod criedout in pain, but in the end there was a glad triumph in his voice as hesaid:

"No bone broke--hurt most here!" and he touched the bruise. "Near brokerib--not quite. Took wind out and made great deal sick. Want goodsupper, hot coffee--rub in bear's grease, then be better!"

Rod, who had opened his eyes, smiled faintly and Wabi gave a half-shoutof delight.

"Not so bad as we thought, eh, Rod?" he cried. "You can't fool Muky! Ifhe says your arm isn't broken--why, it _isn't_, and that's all there isto it. Let me bolster you up in these blankets and we'll soon have asupper that will sizzle the aches out of you. I smell meat--fresh meat!"

With a chuckle of pleasure Mukoki jumped to his feet and ran out towhere the ribs of the doe were slowly broiling over the fire. They werealready done to a rich brown and their dripping juice filled thenostrils with an appetizing odor. By the time Wabi had applied Mukoki'sprescription to his comrade's wounds, and had done them up in bandages,the tempting feast was spread before them.

As a liberal section of the ribs was placed before him, together withcorn-meal cakes and a cup of steaming coffee, Rod could not suppress ahappy though somewhat embarrassed laugh.

"I'm ashamed of myself, Wabi," he said. "Here I've been causing so muchbother, like some helpless kid; and now I find I haven't even the excuseof a broken arm, and that I'm as hungry as a bear! Looks pretty yellow,doesn't it? Just as though I was scared to death! So help me, I almostwish my arm _was_ broken!"

Mukoki had buried his teeth in a huge chunk of fat rib, but he loweredit with a great chuckling grunt, half of his face smeared with the firstresults of his feast.

"Waugh!" shrieked Wabi. "How is that for cheerful news, Rod?" Hismerriment echoed far out into the night. Suddenly he caught himself andpeered suspiciously into the gloom beyond the circle of firelight.

"Do you suppose they would follow?" he asked.

A more cautious silence followed, and the Indian youth quickly relatedthe adventures of the day to Mukoki--how, in the heart of the forestseveral miles beyond the lake, they had come upon the Indian hunters,had accepted of their seemingly honest hospitality, and in the midst oftheir meal had suffered an attack from them. So sudden and unexpectedhad been the assault that one of the Indians got away with Rod's rifle,ammunition belt and revolver before any effort could be made to stophim. Wabi was under the other two Indians when Rod came to hisassistance, with the result that the latter was struck two heavy blows,either with a club or a gun-stock. So tenaciously had the Indian boyclung to his own weapon that his assailants, after a brief struggle,darted into the dense underbrush, evidently satisfied with the whiteboy's equipment.

"They were of Woonga's people, without a doubt," finished Wabi. "Itpuzzles me why they didn't kill us. They had half a dozen chances toshoot us, but didn't seem to want to do us any great injury. Either themeasures taken at the Post are making them reform, or--"

He paused, a troubled look in his eyes. Immediately Mukoki told of hisown experience and of the mysterious haste of the three Indians who hadslain the doe.

"It is certainly curious," rejoined the young Indian. "They couldn'thave been the ones we met, but I'll wager they belong to the same gang.I wouldn't be surprised if we had hit upon one of Woonga's retreats.We've always thought he was in the Thunder Bay regions to the west, andthat is where father is watching for him now. We've hit the hornets'nest, Muky, and the only thing for us to do is to get out of thiscountry as fast as we can!"

"We'd make a nice pot-shot just at this moment," volunteered Rod,looking across to the dense blackness on the opposite side of the river,where the moonlight seemed to make even more impenetrable the wall ofgloom.

As he spoke there came a slight sound from behind him, the commotion ofa body moving softly beyond the wall of spruce boughs, then a curious,suspicious sniffing, and after that a low whine.

"Listen!"

Wabi's command came in a tense whisper. He leaned close against theboughs, stealthily parted them, and slowly thrust his head through theaperture.

"Hello, Wolf!" he whispered. "What's up?"

An arm's length away, tied before a smaller shelter of spruce, a gaunt,dog-like animal stood in a rigid listening attitude. An instant'sglance, however, would have assured one that it was not a dog, but afull-grown wolf. From the days of its puppyhood Wabi had taught it inthe ways of dogdom, yet had the animal perversely clung to its wildinstincts. A weakness in that thong, a slip of the collar, and Wolfwould have bounded joyously into the forests to seek for ever the packsof his fathers. Now the babeesh rope was taut, Wolf's muzzle was turnedhalf to the sky, his ears were alert, half-sounding notes rattled in histhroat.

"There is something near our camp!" announced the Indian boy, drawinghimself back quickly. "Muky--"

He was interrupted by a long mournful howl from the captive wolf.

Mukoki had jumped to his feet with the alertness of a cat, and now withhis gun in his hand slunk around the edge of the shelter and buriedhimself in the gloom. Roderick lay quiet while Wabi, seizing theremaining rifle, followed him.

"Lie over there in the dark, Rod, where the firelight doesn't show youup," he cautioned in a low voice. "Probably it is only some animal thathas stumbled on to our camp, but we want to make sure."

Ten minutes later the young hunter returned alone.

"False alarm!" he laughed cheerfully. "There's a part of a carcass of ared deer up the creek a bit. It has been killed by wolves, and Wolfsmells some of his own blood coming in to the feast. Muky has set trapsthere and we may have our first scalp in the morning."

"Where is Mukoki?"

"On watch. He is going to keep guard until a little after midnight, andthen I'll turn out. We can't be too careful, with the Woongas in theneighborhood."

Rod shifted himself uneasily.

"What shall we do--to-morrow?" he asked.

"Get out!" replied Wabi with emphasis. "That is, if you are able totravel. From what Mukoki tells me, and from what you and I already know,Woonga's people must be in the forests beyond the lake. We'll cut atrail up the Ombabika for two or three days before we strike camp. Youand Muky can start out as soon as it is light enough."

"And you--" began Rod.

"Oh, I'm going to take a run back over our old wolf-trail and collectthe scalps we shot to-day. There's a month's salary back there for you,Rod! Now, let's turn in. Good night--sleep tight--and be sure to wake upearly in the morning."

The boys, exhausted by the adventures of the day, were soon in profoundslumber. And though midnight came, and hour after hour passed betweenthen and dawn, the faithful Mukoki did not awaken them. Never for amoment neglecting his caution the old Indian watched tirelessly over thecamp. With the first appearance of day he urged the fire into a roaringblaze, raked out a great mass of glowing coals, and proceeded to getbreakfast. Wabi discovered him at this task when he awoke from hisslumber.

"I didn't think you would play this trick on me, Muky," he said, a flushof embarrassment gathering in his brown face. "It's awfully good of you,and all that, but I wish you wouldn't treat me as if I were a child anylonger, old friend!"

He placed his hand affectionately upon the kneeling Mukoki's shoulder,and the old hunter looked up at him with a happy, satisfied grin on hisweather-beaten visage, wrinkled and of the texture of leather by nearlyfifty years of life in the wilderness. It was Mukoki who had firstcarried the baby Wabi about the woods upon his shoulders; it was he whohad played with him, cared for him, and taught him in the ways of thewild in early childhood, and it was he who had missed him most, withlittle Minnetaki, when he went away to school. All the love in the grimold redskin's heart was for the Indian youth and his sister, and to themMukoki was a second father, a silent, watchful guardian and comrade.This one loving touch of Wabi's hand was ample reward for the longnight's duty, and his pleasure expressed itself in two or three lowchuckling grunts.

"Had heap bad day," he replied. "Very much tired. Me feel good--betterthan sleep!" He rose to his feet and handed Wabi the long fork withwhich he manipulated the meat on the spits. "You can tend to that," headded. "I go see traps."

Rod, who had awakened and overheard these last remarks, called out fromthe shack:

"Wait a minute, Mukoki. I'm going with you. If you've got a wolf, I wantto see him."

"Got one sure 'nuff," grinned the old Indian.

In a few minutes Rod came out, fully dressed and with a much healthiercolor in his face than when he went to bed the preceding night. He stoodbefore the fire, stretched one arm then the other, gave a slight grimaceof pain, and informed his anxious comrades that he seemed to be as wellas ever, except that his arm and side were very sore.

Walking slowly, that Rod might "find himself," as Wabi expressed it, thetwo went up the river. It was a dull gray morning and occasionally largeflakes of snow fell, giving evidence that before the day was faradvanced another storm would set in. Mukoki's traps were not more thanan eighth of a mile from camp, and as the two rounded a certain bend inthe river the old hunter suddenly stopped with a huge grant ofsatisfaction. Following the direction in which he pointed Rod saw a darkobject lying in the snow a short distance away.

"That's heem!" exclaimed the Indian.

As they approached, the object became animate, pulling and tearing inthe snow as though in the agonies of death. A few moments more and theywere close up to the captive.

"She wolf!" explained Mukoki.

He gripped the ax he had brought with him and approached within a fewfeet of the crouching animal. Rod could see that one of the big steeltraps had caught the wolf on the forward leg and that the other hadburied its teeth in one of the hind legs. Thus held the doomed animalcould make little effort to protect itself and crouched in sullen quiet,its white fangs gleaming in a noiseless, defiant snarl, its eyes shiningwith pain and anger, and with only its thin starved body, which jerkedand trembled as the Indian came nearer, betraying signs of fear. To Rodit might have been a pitiful sight had not there come to him a thoughtof the preceding night and of his own and Wabi's narrow escape from thepack.

Two or three quick blows of the ax and the wolf was dead. With a skillwhich can only be found among those of his own race, Mukoki drew hisknife, cut deftly around the wolf's head just below the ears, and withone downward, one upward, and two sidewise jerks tore off the scalp.

Suddenly, without giving a thought to his speech, there shot from Rod,

"Is that the way you scalp people?"

Mukoki looked up, his jaw fell--and then he gave the nearest thing to areal laugh that Rod ever heard come from between his lips. When Mukokilaughed it was usually in a half-chuckle, a half-gurgle--something thatneither Rod nor Wabi could have imitated if they had tried steadily fora month.

"Never scalped white people," the old Indian shot back. "Father didwhen--young man. Did great scalp business!"

Mukoki had not done chuckling to himself even when they reached camp.

Scarcely ten minutes were taken in eating breakfast. Snow was alreadybeginning to fall, and if the hunters took up their trail at once theirtracks would undoubtedly be entirely obliterated by midday, which wasthe best possible thing that could happen for them in the Woongacountry. On the other hand, Wabi was anxious to follow back over thewolf-trail before the snow shut it in. There was no danger of theirbecoming separated and lost, for it was agreed that Rod and Mukokishould travel straight up the frozen river. Wabi would overtake thembefore nightfall.

Arming himself with his rifle, revolver, knife, and a keen-edgedbelt-ax, the Indian boy lost no time in leaving camp. A quarter of anhour later Wabi came out cautiously on the end of the lake where hadoccurred the unequal duel between the old bull moose and the wolves. Asingle glance told him what the outcome of that duel had been. Twentyrods out upon the snow he saw parts of a great skeleton, and a huge pairof antlers.

As he stood on the arena of the mighty battle, Wabi would have given agreat deal if Rod could have been with him. There lay the heroic oldmoose, now nothing more than a skeleton. But the magnificent head andhorns still remained--the largest head that the Indian youth, in all hiswilderness life, had ever seen--and it occurred to him that if this headcould be preserved and taken back to civilization it would be worth ahundred dollars or more. That the old bull had put up a magnificentfight was easily discernible. Fifty feet away were the bones of a wolf,and almost under the skeleton of the moose were those of another. Theheads of both still remained, and Wabi, after taking their scalps,hurried on over the trail.

Half-way across the lake, where he had taken his last two shots, werethe skeletons of two more wolves, and in the edge of the spruce foresthe found another. This animal had evidently been wounded farther backand had later been set upon by some of the pack and killed. Half a miledeeper in the forest he came upon a spot where he had emptied fiveshells into the pack and here he found the bones of two more wolves. Hehad seven scalps in his possession when he turned back over the hometrail.

Beside the remains of the old bull Wabi paused again. He knew that theIndians frequently preserved moose and caribou heads through the winterby keeping them frozen, and the head at his feet was a prize worth somethought. But how could he keep it preserved until their return, monthslater? He could not suspend it from the limb of a tree, as was thecustom when in camp, for it would either be stolen by some passinghunter or spoiled by the first warm days of spring. Suddenly an ideacame to him. Why could it not be preserved in what white hunters calledan "Indian ice-box"? In an instant he was acting upon this inspiration.It was not a small task to drag the huge head to the shelter of thetamaracks, where, safely hidden from view, he made a closer examination.The head was gnawed considerably by the wolves, but Wabi had seen worseones skillfully repaired by the Indians at the Post.

Under a dense growth of spruce, where the rays of the sun seldompenetrated, the Indian boy set to work with his belt-ax. For an hour anda half he worked steadily, and at the end of that time had dug a hole inthe frozen earth three feet deep and four feet square. This hole he nowlined with about two inches of snow, packed as tight as he could jam itwith the butt of his gun. Then placing in the head he packed snowclosely about it and afterward filled in the earth, stamping upon thehard chunks with his feet. When all was done he concealed the signs ofhis work under a covering of snow, blazed two trees with his ax, andresumed his journey.

"There is thirty dollars for each of us if there's a cent," he musedsoftly, as he hurried toward the Ombabika. "That ground won't thaw outuntil June. A moose-head and eight scalps at fifteen dollars each isn'tbad for one day's work, Rod, old boy!"

He had been absent for three hours. It had been snowing steadily and bythe time he reached their old camp the trail left by Rod and Mukoki wasalready partly obliterated, showing that they had secured an early startup the river.

Bowing his head in the white clouds falling silently about him, Wabistarted in swift pursuit. He could not see ten rods ahead of him, sodense was the storm, and at times one side or the other of the river waslost to view. Conditions could not have been better for their flight outof the Woonga country, thought the young hunter. By nightfall they wouldbe many miles up the river, and no sign would be left behind to revealtheir former presence or to show in which direction they had gone. Fortwo hours he followed tirelessly over the trail, which became more andmore distinct as he proceeded, showing that he was rapidly gaining onhis comrades. But even now, though the trail was fresher and deeper, sodisguised had it become by falling snow that a passing hunter might havethought a moose or caribou had passed that way.

At the end of the third hour, by which time he figured that he had madeat least ten miles, Wabi sat down to rest, and to refresh himself withthe lunch which he had taken from the camp that morning. He wassurprised at Rod's endurance. That Mukoki and the white boy were stillthree or four miles ahead of him he did not doubt, unless they, too, hadstopped for dinner. This, on further thought, he believed was highlyprobable.

The wilderness about him was intensely still. Not even the twitter of asnow-bird marred its silence. For a long time Wabi sat as immovable asthe log upon which he had seated himself, resting and listening. Such aday as this held a peculiar and unusual fascination for him. It was asif the whole world was shut out, and that even the wild things of theforest dared not go abroad in this supreme moment of Nature's handiwork,when with lavish hand she spread the white mantle that was to stretchfrom the border to Hudson Bay.

As he listened there came to him suddenly a sound that forced frombetween his lips a half-articulate cry. It was the clear, ringing reportof a rifle! And following it there came another, and another, until inquick succession he had counted five!

What did it mean? He sprang to his feet, his heart thumping, every nervein him prepared for action. He would have sworn it was Mukoki'srifle--yet Mukoki would not have fired at game! They had agreed uponthat.

Had Rod and the old Indian been attacked? In another instant Wabi wasbounding over the trail with the speed of a deer.

CHAPTER V

MYSTERIOUS SHOTS IN THE WILDERNESS

As the Indian youth sped over the trail in the direction of therifle-shots he flung his usual caution to the winds. His blood thrilledwith the knowledge that there was not a moment to lose--that even now,in all probability, he would be too late to assist his friends. Thisfear was emphasized by the absolute silence which followed the fiveshots. Eagerly, almost prayerfully, he listened as he ran for othersounds of battle--for the report of Mukoki's revolver, or the whoops ofthe victors. If there had been an ambush it was all over now. Eachmoment added to his conviction, and as he thrust the muzzle of his gunahead of him, his finger hovering near the trigger and his snow-blindedeyes staring ahead into the storm, something like a sob escaped hislips.

Ahead of him the stream narrowed until it almost buried itself under amass of towering cedars. The closeness of the forest walls now added tothe general gloom, intensified by the first gray pallor of the Northerndusk, which begins to fall in these regions early in the afternoon ofNovember days. For a moment, just before plunging into the gloomy trailbetween the cedars, Wabi stopped and listened. He heard nothing but thebeating of his own heart, which worked like a trip-hammer within hisbreast. The stillness was oppressive. And the longer he listened themore some invisible power seemed to hold him back. It was not fear, itwas not lack of courage, but--

What was there just beyond those cedars, lurking cautiously in the snowgloom?

With instinct that was almost animal in its unreasonableness Wabi sankupon his knees. He had seen nothing, he had heard nothing; but hecrouched close, until he was no larger than a waiting wolf, and therewas a deadly earnestness in the manner in which he turned his rifle intothe deeper gloom of those close-knit walls of forest. Something wasapproaching, cautiously, stealthily, and with extreme slowness. TheIndian boy felt that this was so, and yet if his life had depended uponit he could not have told why. He huddled himself lower in the snow. Hiseyes gleamed with excitement. Minute after minute passed, and stillthere came no sound. Then, from far up that dusky avenue of cedars,there came the sudden startled chatter of a moose-bird. It was a warningwhich years of experience had taught Wabi always to respect. Perhaps aroving fox had frightened it, perhaps the bird had taken to noisy flightat the near tread of a moose, a caribou, or a deer. But--

To Wabi the soft, quick notes of the moose-bird spelled man! In aninstant he was upon his feet, darting quickly into the sheltering cedarsof the shore. Through these he now made his way with extreme caution,keeping close to the bank of the frozen stream. After a little he pausedagain and concealed himself behind the end of a fallen log. Ahead of himhe could look into the snow gloom between the cedars, and whatever wascoming through that gloom would have to pass within a dozen yards ofhim. Each moment added to his excitement. He heard the chatter of a redsquirrel, much nearer than the moose-bird. Once he fancied that he heardthe striking of two objects, as though a rifle barrel had accidentallycome into contact with the dead limb of a tree.

Suddenly the Indian youth imagined that he saw something--an indistinctshadow that came in the snow gloom, then disappeared, and came again. Hebrushed the water and snow from his eyes with one of his mittened handsand stared hard and steadily. Once more the shadow disappeared, thencame again, larger and more distinct than before. There was no doubtnow. Whatever had startled the moose-bird was coming slowly,noiselessly.

Wabi brought his rifle to his shoulder. Life and death hovered with hisanxious, naked finger over the gun trigger. But he was too well trainedin the ways of the wilderness to fire just yet. Yard by yard the shadowapproached, and divided itself into two shadows. Wabi could now see thatthey were men. They were advancing in a cautious, crouching attitude, asthough they expected to meet enemies somewhere ahead of them. Wabi'sheart thumped with joy. There could be no surer sign that Mukoki and Rodwere still among the living, for why should the Woongas employ thiscaution if they had already successfully ambushed the hunters? With thechill of a cold hand at his throat the answer flashed into Wabigoon'sbrain. His friends had been ambushed, and these two Woongas werestealing back over the trail to slay him!

Very slowly, very gently, the young Indian's finger pressed against thetrigger of his rifle. A dozen feet more, and then--

The shadows had stopped, and now drew together as if in consultation.They were not more than twenty yards away, and for a moment Wabi loweredhis rifle and listened hard. He could hear the low unintelligiblemutterings of their conversation. Then there came to him a singleincautious reply from one of the shadows.

"All right!"

Surely that was not the English of a Woonga! It sounded like--

In a flash Wabi had called softly.

"Ho, Muky--Muky--Rod!"

In another moment the three wolf hunters were together, silentlywringing one another's hands, the death-like pallor of Rod's face andthe tense lines in the bronzed countenances of Mukoki and Wabigoonplainly showing the tremendous strain they had been under.

Only the one word fell from the old Indian, but it was filled with a newwarning. Who had fired the five shots? The hunters gazed blankly at oneanother, mute questioning in their eyes. Without speaking, Mukokipointed suggestively to the clearer channel of the river beyond thecedars. Evidently he thought the shots had come from there. Wabi shookhis head.

"There was no trail," he whispered. "Nobody has crossed the river."

"I thought they were there!" breathed Rod. He pointed into the forest."But Mukoki said no."

For a long time the three stood and listened. Half a mile back in theforest they heard the howl of a single wolf, and Wabi flashed a curiousglance into the eyes of the old Indian.

"That's a man's cry," he whispered. "The wolf has struck a human trail.It isn't mine!"

"Nor ours," replied Rod.

This one long howl of the wolf was the only sound that broke thestillness of approaching night. Mukoki turned, and the others followedin his trail. A quarter of a mile farther on the stream became stillnarrower and plunged between great masses of rock which rose into wildand precipitous hills that were almost mountains a little way back. Nolonger could the hunters now follow the channel of the rushing torrent.Through a break in a gigantic wall of rock and huge boulders led thetrail of Rod and Mukoki. Ten minutes more and the three had clambered tothe top of the ridge where, in the lee of a great rock, the remains of afire were still burning. Here the old Indian and his companion hadstruck camp and were waiting for Wabigoon when they heard the shotswhich they, too, believed were those of an ambush.

A comfortable shelter of balsam had already been erected against therock, and close beside the fire, where Mukoki had dropped it at thesound of the shots, was a large piece of spitted venison. The situationwas ideal for a camp and after the hard day's tramp through the snow theyoung wolf hunters regarded it with expressions of pleasure, in spite ofthe enemies whom they knew might be lurking near them. Both Wabi and Rodhad accepted the place as their night's home, and were stirring up thefire, when their attention was drawn to the singular attitude of Mukoki.The old warrior stood leaning on his rifle, speechless and motionless,his eyes regarding the process of rekindling the fire with mutedisapprobation. Wabi, poised on one knee, looked at him questioningly.

"No make more fire," said the old Indian, shaking his head. "No darestay here. Go on--beyond mountain!"

Mukoki straightened himself and stretched a long arm toward the north.

"River go like much devil 'long edge of mountain," he continued. "Makeheap noise through rock, then make swamp thick for cow moose--then runthrough mountain and make wide, smooth river once more. We go overmountain. Snow all night. Morning come--no trail for Woonga. We stayhere--make big trail in morning. Woonga follow like devil, ver' plain tosee!"

Wabi rose to his feet, his face showing the keenness of hisdisappointment. Since early morning he had been traveling, even runningat times, and he was tired enough to risk willingly a few dangers forthe sake of sleep and supper. Rod was in even worse condition, thoughhis trail had been much shorter. For a few moments the two boys lookedat each other in silence, neither attempting to conceal the lack offavor with which Mukoki's suggestion was received. But Wabi was too wiseopenly to oppose the old pathfinder. If Mukoki said that it wasdangerous for them to remain where they were during the night--well, itwas dangerous, and it would be foolish of him to dispute it. He knewMukoki to be the greatest hunter of his tribe, a human bloodhound on thetrail, and what he said was law. So with a cheerful grin at Rod, whoneeded all the encouragement that could be given to him, Wabi began thereadjustment of the pack which he had flung from his shoulders a fewminutes before.

Only a few articles had been taken from the toboggan-sled on which thehunters were dragging the greater part of their equipment into thewilderness, and Mukoki soon had these packed again. The threeadventurers now took up the new trail along the top of one of those wildand picturesque ridges which both the Indians and white hunters of thisgreat Northland call mountains. Wabigoon led, weighted under his pack,selecting the clearest road for the toboggan and clipping downobstructing saplings with his keen-edged belt-ax. A dozen feet behindhim followed Mukoki, dragging the sled; and behind the sled, securelytied with a thong of babeesh, or moose-skin rope, slunk the wolf. Rod,less experienced in making a trail and burdened with a lighter pack,formed the rear of the little cavalcade.

Darkness was now falling rapidly. Though Wabigoon was not more than adozen yards ahead, Rod could only now and then catch a fleeting visionof him through the gloom. Mukoki, doubled over in his harness, washardly more than a blotch in the early night. Only the wolf was nearenough to offer companionship to the tired and down-spirited youth.Rod's enthusiasm was not easily cooled, but just now he mentally wishedthat, for this one night at least, he was back at the Post, with thelovely little Minnetaki relating to him some legend of bird or beastthey had encountered that day. How much pleasanter that would be! Thevision of the bewitching little maiden was suddenly knocked out of hishead in a most unexpected and startling way. Mukoki had paused for amoment and Rod, unconscious of the fact, continued on his journey untilhe tumbled in a sprawling heap over the sled, knocking Mukoki's legscompletely from under him in his fall. When Wabi ran back he found Rodflattened out, face downward, and Mukoki entangled in his site harnesson top of him.

In a way this accident was fortunate. Wabi, who possessed a Caucasiansense of humor, shook with merriment as he gave his assistance, and Rod,after he had dug the snow from his eyes and ears and had emptied ahandful of it from his neck, joined with him.

The ridge now became narrower as the trio advanced. On one side, fardown, could be heard the thunderous rush of the river, and from thedirection of the sound Rod knew they were near a precipice. Great bedsof boulders and broken rock, thrown there by some tumultuous upheaval ofpast ages, now impeded their progress, and every step was taken withextreme caution. The noise of the torrent became louder and louder asthey advanced and on one side of him Rod now thought that he coulddistinguish a dim massive shadow towering above them, like theprecipitous side of a mountain. A few steps farther and Mukoki exchangedplaces with Wabigoon.

"Muky has been here before," cried Wabi close up to Rod's ear. His voicewas almost drowned by the tumult below. "That's where the river rushesthrough the mountain!"

Rod forgot his fatigue in the new excitement. Never in his wildestdreams of adventure had he foreseen an hour like this. Each step seemedto bring them nearer the edge of the vast chasm through which the riverplunged, and yet not a sign of it could he see. He strained his eyes andears, each moment expecting to hear the warning voice of the oldwarrior. With a suddenness that chilled him he saw the great shadowclose in upon them from the opposite side, and for the first time herealized their position. On their left was the precipice--on their rightthe sheer wall of the mountain! How wide was the ledge along which theywere traveling? His foot struck a stick under the snow. Catching it uphe flung it out into space. For a single instant he paused to listen,but there came no sound of the falling object. The precipice was verynear--a little chill ran up his spine. It was a sensation he had neverexperienced in walking the streets of a city!

Though he could not see, he knew that the ledge was now leading them up.He could hear Wabigoon straining ahead of the toboggan and he began toassist by pushing on the rear of the loaded sled. For half an hour thisupward climb continued, until the sound of the river had entirely diedaway. No longer was the mountain on the right. Five minutes later Mukokicalled a halt.

"On top mountain," he said briefly. "Camp here!"

Rod could not repress an exclamation of joy, and Wabigoon, as he threwoff his harness, gave a suppressed whoop. Mukoki, who seemed tireless,began an immediate search for a site for their camp and after a shortbreathing-spell Rod and Wabi joined him. The spot chosen was in theshelter of a huge rock, and while Mukoki cleaned away the snow the younghunters set to work with their axes in a near growth of balsam, cuttingarmful after armful of the soft odorous boughs. Inside of an hour acomfortable camp was completed, with an exhilarating fire throwing itscrackling flames high up into the night before it.

For the first time since leaving the abandoned camp at the other end ofthe ridge the hunters fully realized how famished they were, and Mukokiwas at once delegated to prepare supper while Wabi and Rod searched inthe darkness for their night's supply of wood. Fortunately quite near athand they discovered several dead poplars, the best fuel in the worldfor a camp-fire, and by the time the venison and coffee were ready theyhad collected a huge pile of this, together with several good-sizedbacklogs.

Mukoki had spread the feast in the opening of the shelter where the heatof the fire, reflected from the face of the rock, fell upon them ingenial warmth, suffusing their faces with a most comfortable glow. Theheat, together with the feast, were almost overpowering in theireffects, and hardly was his supper completed when Rod felt creeping overhim a drowsiness which he attempted in vain to fight off a littlelonger. Dragging himself back in the shelter he wrapped himself in hisblanket, burrowed into the mass of balsam boughs, and passed quicklyinto oblivion. His last intelligible vision was Mukoki piling logs uponthe fire, while the flames shot up a dozen feet into the air, illuminingto his drowsy eyes for an instant a wild chaos of rock, beyond which laythe mysterious and impenetrable blackness of the wilderness.

CHAPTER VI

MUKOKI DISTURBS THE ANCIENT SKELETONS

Completely exhausted, every muscle in his aching body still seeming tostrain with exertion, the night was one of restless and uncomfortabledreams for Roderick Drew. While Wabi and the old Indian, veterans inwilderness hardship, slept in peace and tranquillity, the city boy foundhimself in the most unusual and thrilling situations from which he wouldextricate himself with a grunt or sharp cry, several times sitting boltupright in his bed of balsam until he realized where he was, and thathis adventures were only those of dreamland.

From one of these dreams Rod had aroused himself into drowsywakefulness. He fancied that he had heard steps. For the tenth time heraised himself upon an elbow, stretched, rubbed his eyes, glanced at thedark, inanimate forms of his sleeping companions, and snuggled down intohis balsam boughs again. A few moments later he sat bolt upright. Hecould have sworn that he heard real steps this time--a soft cautiouscrunching in the snow very near his head. Breathlessly he listened. Nota sound broke the silence except the snapping of a dying ember in thefire. Another dream! Once more he settled back, drawing his blanketclosely about him. Then, for a full breath, the very beating of hisheart seemed to cease.

What was that!

He was awake now, wide awake, with every faculty in him striving toarrange itself. He had heard--a step! Slowly, very cautiously this time,he raised himself. There came distinctly to his ears a light crunchingin the snow. It seemed back of the shelter--then was moving away, thenstopped. The flickering light of the dying fire still played on the faceof the great rock. Suddenly, at the very end of that rock, somethingmoved.

Some object was creeping cautiously upon the sleeping camp!

For a moment his thrilling discovery froze the young hunter intoinaction. But in a moment the whole situation flashed upon him. TheWoongas had followed them! They were about to fall upon the helplesscamp! Unexpectedly one of his hands came in contact with the barrel ofWabi's rifle. The touch of the cold steel aroused him. There was no timeto awaken his companions. Even as he drew the gun to him he saw theobject grow larger and larger at the end of the rock, until it stoodcrouching, as if about to spring.

The white boy was on his knees now, the smoking rifle still leveledtoward the rocks. Out there, in the thick shadows beyond the fire, abody was groveling and kicking in death agonies. In another instant thegaunt form of the old warrior was beside Rod, his rifle at his shoulder,and over their heads reached Wabigoon's arm, the barrel of his heavyrevolver glinting in the firelight.

For a full minute they crouched there, breathless, waiting.

"They've gone!" broke Wabi in a tense whisper.

"I got one of them!" replied Rod, his voice trembling with excitement.

Mukoki slipped back and burrowed a hole through the side of the shelter.He could see nothing. Slowly he slipped out, his rifle ready. The otherscould hear him as he went. Foot by foot the old warrior slunk along inthe deep gloom toward the end of the rock. Now he was almost there,now--

The young hunters saw him suddenly straighten. There came to them a lowchuckling grunt. He bent over, seized an object, and flung it in thelight of the fire.

"Heap big Woonga! Kill nice fat lynx!"

With a wail, half feigned, half real, Rod flung himself back upon thebalsam while Wabi set up a roar that made the night echo. Mukoki's facewas creased in a broad grin.

When Rod finally emerged from his den to join the others his face wasflushed and wore what Wabi described as a "sheepish grin."

"It's all right for you fellows to make fun of me," he declared. "Butwhat if they had been Woongas? By George, if we're ever attacked again Iwon't do a thing. I'll let you fellows fight 'em off!"

In spite of the general merriment at his expense, Rod was immenselyproud of his first lynx. It was an enormous creature of its kind, drawnby hunger to the scraps of the camp-fire feast; and it was this animal,as it cautiously inspected the camp, that the young hunter had heardcrunching in the snow. Wolf, whose instinct had told him what a mix-upwould mean, had slunk into his shelter without betraying his whereaboutsto this arch-enemy of his tribe.

With the craft of his race, Mukoki was skinning the animal while it wasstill warm.

"You go back bed," he said to his companions. "I build big fireagain--then sleep."

The excitement of his adventure at least freed Rod from theunpleasantness of further dreams, and it was late the following morningbefore he awoke again. He was astonished to find that a beautiful sunwas shining. Wabi and the old Indian were already outside preparingbreakfast, and the cheerful whistling of the former assured Rod thatthere was now little to be feared from the Woongas. Without lingering totake a beauty nap he joined them.

Everywhere about them lay white winter. The rocks, the trees, and themountain behind them were covered with two feet of snow and upon it thesun shone with dazzling brilliancy. But it was not until Rod looked intothe north that he saw the wilderness in all of its grandeur. The camphad been made at the extreme point of the ridge, and stretching awayunder his eyes, mile after mile, was the vast white desolation thatreached to Hudson Bay. In speechless wonder he gazed down upon theunblazed forests, saw plains and hills unfold themselves as his visiongained distance, followed a river until it was lost in the bewilderingpicture, and let his eyes rest here and there upon the glistening,snow-smothered bosoms of lakes, rimmed in by walls of black forest. Thiswas not the wilderness as he had expected it to be, nor as he had oftenread of it in books. It was beautiful! It was magnificent! His heartthrobbed with pleasure as he gazed down on it, the blood rose to hisface in an excited flush, and he seemed hardly to breathe in his tenseinterest.

Mukoki had come up beside him softly, and spoke in his low gutturalvoice.

Roderick, even trembling in his new emotion, looked into the oldwarrior's face. In Mukoki's eyes there was a curious, thrilling gleam.He stared straight out into the unending distance as though his keenvision would penetrate far beyond the last of that visibledesolation--on and on, even to the grim and uttermost fastnesses ofHudson Bay. Wabi came up and placed his hand on Rod's shoulder.

"Muky was born off there," he said. "Away beyond where we can see. Thosewere his hunting-grounds when a boy. See that mountain yonder? You mighttake it for a cloud. It's thirty miles from here! And that lake downthere--you might think a rifle-shot would reach it--is five miles away!If a moose or a caribou or a wolf should cross it how you could seehim."

For a few moments longer the three stood silent, then Wabi and the oldIndian returned to the fire to finish the preparation of breakfast,leaving Rod alone in his enchantment. What unsolved mysteries, whatunwritten tragedies, what romance, what treasure of gold that vast Northmust hold! For a thousand, perhaps a million centuries, it had lain thusundisturbed in the embrace of nature; few white men had broken itssolitudes, and the wild things still lived there as they had lived inthe winters of ages and ages ago.

The call to breakfast came almost as an unpleasant interruption to Rod.But it did not shock his appetite as it had his romantic fancies, and heperformed his part at the morning meal with considerable credit. Wabiand Mukoki had already decided that they would not take up the trailagain that day but would remain in their present camp until thefollowing morning. There were several reasons for this delay.

"We can't travel without snow-shoes now," explained Wabi to Rod, "andwe've got to take a day off to teach you how to use them. Then, all thewild things are lying low. Moose, deer, caribou, and especially wolvesand fur animals, won't begin traveling much until this afternoon andto-night, and if we took up the trail now we would have no way oftelling what kind of a game country we were in. And that is theimportant thing just now. If we strike a first-rate game country duringthe next couple days we'll stop and build our winter camp."

"Then you believe we are far enough away from the Woongas?" asked Rod.

Mukoki grunted.

"No believe Woongas come over mountain. Heap good game country backthere. They stay."

During the meal the white boy asked a hundred questions about the vastwilderness which lay stretched out before them in a great panorama, andin which they were soon to bury themselves, and every answer added tohis enthusiasm. Immediately after they had finished eating Rod expresseda desire to begin his study in snow-shoeing, and for an hour after thatWabi and Mukoki piloted him back and forth along the ridge, instructinghim in this and in that, applauding when he made an especially good dashand enjoying themselves immensely when he took one of his frequenttumbles into the snow. By noon Rod secretly believed that he wasbecoming quite an adept.

Although the day in camp was an exceedingly pleasant one for Rod, hecould not but observe that at times something seemed to be troublingWabi. Twice he discovered the Indian youth alone within the sheltersitting in silent and morose dejection, and finally he insisted upon anexplanation.

"I want you to tell me what the trouble is, Wabi," he demanded. "Whathas gone wrong?"

Wabi jumped to his feet with a little laugh.

"Did you ever have a dream that bothered you, Rod?" he asked. "Well, Ihad one last night, and since then--somehow--I can't keep from worryingabout the people back at the Post, and especially about Minnetaki. It'sall--what do you call it--bosh? Listen! Wasn't that Mukoki's whistle?"

As he paused Mukoki came running around the end of the rock.

"See fun!" he cried softly. "Quick--see heem quick!"

He turned and darted toward the precipitous edge of the ridge, closelyfollowed by the two boys.

"Cari-boo-oo!" he whispered excitedly as they came up beside him."Cari-boo-oo--making big play!"

He pointed down into the snowy wilderness. Three-quarters of a mileaway, though to Rod apparently not more than a third of that distancefrom where they stood, half a dozen animals were disporting themselvesin a singular fashion in a meadow-like opening between the mountain anda range of forest. It was Rod's first real glimpse of that wonderfulanimal of the North of which he had read so much, the caribou--commonlyknown beyond the Sixtieth Degree as the reindeer; and at this momentthose below him were indulging in the queer play known in the Hudson Bayregions as the "caribou dance."

"What's the matter with them?" he asked, his voice quivering withexcitement. "What--"

Wabi had thrust a finger in his mouth and now held it above his head,the Indian's truest guide for discovering the direction of the wind. Thelee side of his finger remained cold and damp, while that side uponwhich the breeze fell was quickly dried.

"The wind is toward us, Muky," he announced. "There's a fine chance fora shot. You go! Rod and I will stay here and watch you."

Roderick heard--knew that Mukoki was creeping back to the camp for hisrifle, but not for an instant did his spellbound eyes leave thespectacle below him. Two other animals had joined those in the open. Hecould see the sun glistening on their long antlers as they tossed theirheads in their amazing antics. Now three or four of them would dash awaywith the speed of the wind, as though the deadliest of enemies wereclose behind them. Two or three hundred yards away they would stop withequal suddenness, whirl about in a circle, as though flight wereinterrupted on all sides of them, then tear back with lightning speed torejoin the herd. In twos and threes and fours they performed theseevolutions again and again. But there was another antic that held Rod'seyes, and if it had not been so new and wonderful to him he would havelaughed, as Wabi was doing--silently--behind him. From out of the herdwould suddenly dash one of the agile creatures, whirl about, jump andkick, and finally bounce up and down on all four feet, as thoughperforming a comedy sketch in pantomime for the amusement of itscompanions; and when this was done it would start out in another madflight, with others of the herd at its heels.

"They are the funniest, swiftest, and shrewdest animals in the North,"said Wabi. "They can smell you over a mountain if the wind is right, andhear you for half a mile. Look!"

He pointed downward over Rod's shoulder. Mukoki had already reached thebase of the ridge and was stealing straight out in the direction of thecaribou. Rod gave a surprised gasp.

"Great Scott! They'll see him, won't they?" he cried.

"Not if Mukoki knows himself," smiled the Indian youth. "Remember thatwe are looking down on things. Everything seems clear and open to us,while in reality it's quite thick down there. I'll bet Muky can't seeone hundred yards ahead of him. He has got his bearings and will go asstraight as though he was on a blazed trail; but he won't see thecaribou until he conies to the edge of the open."

Each minute now added to Rod's excitement. Each of those minutes broughtthe old warrior nearer his game. Seldom, thought Rod, had such a scenebeen unfolded to the eyes of a white boy. The complete picture--theplayful rompings of the dumb children of the wilderness; the stealthyapproach of the old Indian; every rock, every tree that was to play itspart--all were revealed to their eyes. Not a phase in this drama in wildlife escaped them. Five minutes, ten, fifteen passed. They could seeMukoki as he stopped and lifted a hand to test the wind. Then hecrouched, advancing foot by foot, yard by yard, so slowly that he seemedto be on his hands and knees.

"He can hear them, but he can't see them!" breathed Wabigoon. "See! Heplaces his ear to the ground! Now he has got his bearings again--asstraight as a die! Good old Muky!"

The old Indian crept on. In his excitement Rod clenched his hands and heseemed to live without breathing. Would Mukoki never shoot? Would he